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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840346">A Very Declan Father's Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni'>aurumdalseni (kyo_chan)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Honest Reflections [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anxiety, Call Down the Hawk Spoilers, Catholicism, Confessional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Lesbian Character, Post-Call Down the Hawk, Resolution, Trans Declan, Trans Female Character, lesbian Declan, transgirl Declan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:42:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Declan wakes up one June Sunday morning, she's not expecting the surprise her brother(s) had planned for her. It pushes her towards a forgiveness of self she didn't think she was allowed to have.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Declan Lynch &amp; Matthew Lynch &amp; Ronan Lynch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Honest Reflections [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Very Declan Father's Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and thank you for coming to read! This takes place after CDTH and the current storyline of Honest Reflections, where everyone WILL make it out of the Dreamer Trilogy alive sohelpme... I've been planning to do this for a while, and it's lovingly dedicated to Effwit, who's been supportive and awesome this entire time. Many thanks, as always, also go to silyara/inoctavo, Cappie, and the BB server. (You know the drill &lt;3) This is one of hopefully many oneshots set in this univers. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Ronan crossed his arms. “No.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, come </span>
  </em>
  <span>on</span>
  <em>
    <span>,” Matthew huffed. “This is really important.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re such a dick sometimes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As Ronan’s jaw dropped, he remembered that Matthew’s 18th birthday had come with all sorts of life lessons, not the least of which included that he didn’t have to be literal sunshine, and he didn’t always have to be nice. Since Ronan was not-nice by default, he didn’t think he should find it as surprising as he always did. And yet, Matthew calling him out did things to his conscience he thought were long gone. The firm shake of his head was his last resistance, and then Matthew proceeded to fight even dirtier.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan woke up before her alarm, fumbling for her phone on the bedside table. She squinted at it, then groaned and pulled the covers over her head. She didn’t need to be up for another hour and a half. As she lay tucked into the smothering, dark cave of her duvet, it slowly dawned on her that she was a light enough sleeper that something may have woken her up, even if she didn’t know what it was. She held still, listened for sounds that might breach the thick barrier she’d placed between herself and the rest of the world. Nothing came, but she was slowly suffocating. Declan poked her head out but still remained cocooned where it was warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d just started to doze off again, when she heard it - a metallic clattering from downstairs. Declan bolted upright, heart thudding in her ears. Someone was in the townhouse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was the instinctive prayer, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She reached for the handle of her nightstand drawer, about to go for the handgun within it, when she heard the sound again. This time, it was accompanied by Matthew’s laughter, drifting up through her closed door, soothing some of her panic response. Once more, she picked up her phone, but it  had only been a few minutes since the last time she checked. While she got her heart rate under control, she contemplated whether or not she’d try to reclaim the 90 — 85 now — minutes she had left before she had to get ready for church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Curiosity won out, and Declan slipped from bed, pulling on a t-shirt over her boxers. She made her way downstairs, where the noises from the kitchen just kept getting louder. She could definitely smell coffee, but knew Matthew didn’t drink it. Her nose wrinkled and she picked up the sound of bacon crackling and snapping in the pan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” she murmured under her breath. Matthew was going to burn her kitchen down. What had woken her up was an internal alarm warning of imminent danger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when she peered into the kitchen, Matthew wasn’t alone. Ronan stood at the stove, fussing about something as he flipped bacon, wearing Declan’s apron. He didn’t have an apron at the new townhouse because he didn’t tend to cook in her kitchen. She blinked slowly at the thought she’d need to pick one up for him. Matthew sat on the counter, as he often did these days, enough that she’d stopped telling him to get down and just made sure there was a clear space away from the prep area for him to sit when she made dinner. Just as well. Strange as it sounded, she trusted Ronan using her stove more than she did Matthew. It had nothing to do with him being a dream and everything to do with how distracted he got by anything that caught his attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if that had been some sort of unspoken cue, Matthew caught sight of her hovering, blearily taking it all in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aww, man, Declan’s up! I told you you were making too much noise!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan pointed his tongs at Matthew in an I-told-you-so gesture Declan was well familiar with. “And I told </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you can’t make bacon quietly, nerdlord.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan racked her brain, trying to remember if they’d planned this last weekend before they parted ways. Was she supposed to cook breakfast before church this week? Usually, brunch pancakes followed services, but this hardly ever happened before. She struggled to get Matthew out of bed and dressed on time, and here he was, kicking his feet from the counter, already wearing his apron over dress slacks and his undershirt. Ronan was also half-dressed in jeans that were surprisingly trim and in one piece. This wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to her, by a long shot, but it was ranking pretty high up there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s…going on in my kitchen?” she finally asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breakfast, you ass—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy Father’s Day!” Matthew crowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan stood dumbfounded, her gaze traveling from Matthew’s face to the haphazardly heartfelt way the table was set for a meal, then over to Ronan’s back where he continued to cook without looking at her. She did a mental check, and it was indeed June, the appropriate time for it, but this…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew tilted his head. “You don’t like it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought about her parenting books, the teacher conferences, following Matthew to the falls, chasing after Ronan and his homework. Surely there was something she could say, but the words tangled up and tripped over each other on the way to her tongue. Ronan finally shot her a look over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’d better like it, I got up at shit o’clock for this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At a two hour drive to Alexandria from the Barns, he had indeed gotten up at shit o’clock to come here. And cook her breakfast. So they could celebrate Father’s Day. Declan couldn’t be sure, but she thought she might want to sit down very soon. So she made her way to the table, and assumed that where the place setting looked the most involved was where she was supposed to sit. There was a card in a grey envelope next to her coffee mug, and ‘Declan’ was written in Matthew’s sloppy handwriting. Sinking into her chair, she realized Matthew and Ronan were still looking at her expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is…a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan made a disgusted noise and turned back to the stove. “That’s the fucking point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it,” came out of her before she lost her nerve again. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Matthew pumped his fist into the air. “I remain the favorite!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Favorite shithead,” Ronan grumbled. “Come get this plate, and don’t eat them all on the way to the table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t do that. I’d only eat your share.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan’s response was under his breath, in two languages and neither of them very nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew brought the plate of bacon over along with the coffeepot so he could fill Declan’s favorite mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna open your card, D?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lump in her throat was getting decidedly bigger, and she wondered if it would choke her before they even got to church. She took a sip of her coffee for liquid courage and picked up the card, popping open the simple grey flap. She pulled it out, and the first thing she noticed was that “Brother” had been crossed out at the top of the card’s front, replaced again with Matthew’s handwriting spelling out “Sister.” She blinked at it, stuck on his loopy letters in orange marker to make an attempt at matching the rest of the text. Before she could say anything, Matthew huffed out a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you believe they didn’t have any cards about sisters being good dads? It’s 2020, man! Hallmark needs to get its shit together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan snickered from over the pancakes, undoubtedly proud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You might not know just how amazing you are, but I do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the card.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brain stumbled over </span>
  <em>
    <span>best dad </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>set example</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>caring.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re an amazing </span>
  </em>
  <span>— ‘brother’ had been crossed out again — </span>
  <em>
    <span>SISTER, an amazing father</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan blinked furiously. “Ronan, you’re burning the pancakes,” she said, because surely that’s why her eyes stung.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, I am not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew had signed it, and Declan had the absurd thought of putting it on the fridge with some of his other creations. Declan had been celebrating his efforts to the best of her ability since they’d switched schools in Alexandria. His soccer trophies, his concert programs. This was the first time he’d ever gotten her a card. This was the first time they’d done anything like this. She kept turning the card over in her hands, chancing a look over at Ronan, who’d turned his back to her again. His shoulders were set in that stubborn way that always said to Declan, “I don’t want to talk about it,” so she didn’t press him for anything. For all that she’d needed to replace Niall, she hadn’t wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> Niall. She’d just wanted them to survive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Matthew. This was very nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan stretched her arm out, making room for Matthew. He understood immediately, somehow bending to fit his wide shoulders against her, his arms looped around her back in a bear hug that took the wind right out of her. She could tell by the way he nuzzled into her neck that he was pleased with how things had turned out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t get you a card,” Ronan grumbled. “All you get is breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a pile of pancakes appeared in front of her, she didn’t really think that was a bad thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan was outside with Chainsaw when Declan finished getting ready. He’d put a black button-down over his black t-shirt and now leaned on the railing while his bird paced along beside him. The balcony on Declan’s townhouse wasn’t terribly big, and she’d never gone out there before. Something about doing that felt too exposed. Since moving back in, she’d used it a little bit more here and there, nights when she smothered herself and needed air. Ronan looked up at the sound of the screen door sliding, and his expression tightened to see Declan and not Matthew. She was used to that look by now, so she helped herself to the open spot on the deck. Placed on the opposite side as Ronan, she left space between them. Not nearly enough if they were to fight, but enough that they could breathe, she hoped. Chainsaw came over to investigate her and didn’t retreat when Declan reached out to run her knuckles lightly along her throat feathers. Ronan watched them both like he was the animal needing to be wary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was half-dressed,” Ronan mumbled. “What’s taking him so long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan hadn’t figured him as the one who needed to break the silence, but she indulged him. “Matthew things,” was all she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded as if he agreed, looking out over the neighborhood. Instinctively, she knew he was comparing it to the view from the porch at the Barns and finding it lacking. She couldn’t blame him; she found it lacking too. But it was her little slice of imperfection carved out of this whole situation. She’d almost moved when hitmen ransacked her home nearly eight months ago, but she’d stubbornly held onto this and repaired it instead. Little by little, color appeared in the common areas. Matthew had been delighted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their elaborate gesture this morning, the nice breakfast and the family time they’d spent before church, had her taken aback. The idea had to have been Matthew’s, and if she’d had to bet money on persuading Ronan to go along with it, she would have lost it all. Her brothers did not feel the same way about her decisions to lead the family after Niall’s death. In fact, she’d been fairly certain Ronan would never forgive her. It could never just be one thing that changed, it was all of them, at once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to replace him,” Declan told Ronan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan straightened immediately. “I’m going to wait in the car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on.” She grabbed his arm, not really knowing if he would actually retreat, but she didn’t want to take the chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced down at her hand, then up at her face. He looked angry, which told her this conversation, such as it was, hit home somewhere. He did his smoker’s inhale, but he let it out forcefully, a sigh of exasperation or frustration or both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> replace him,” Ronan told her. “You’re nothing like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank God for that,” she said before she could stop herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan shot her a deadly glare, but there was something else about his eyes. He knew she hadn’t lied. “You really fuckin’ hated him, didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t give me many reasons not to.” Another truth. They chipped a little bit of her walls every time, but she was tired of those being up, like she’d been tired of coming home to the same white furniture and grey paint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled back, but only to lean against the railing again, and Declan released him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you fight the will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you follow it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t answer a question with a question, asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want you to know I expect a fair exchange here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t a transaction, Dec!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It costs us something, doesn’t it?” she countered. “I didn’t fight the will because he didn’t show me how. I didn’t know what could happen to us if something didn’t go the way he laid it out. We lost parents that day, Ronan, I wasn’t ready to lose brothers too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chainsaw sensed distress between them, but she didn’t know which way to go, so she paced the short distance between them on the railing, beak parted slightly as if she’d yell, but didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aglionby was…” Ronan’s fists clenched. “It was hell. At least, when we still lived at home, I could, I dunno, fake it. But I never wanted to do what you’re doing. And when we couldn’t go home, it was like…” He made the motions of tying a noose around his neck and hanging himself. “The only room you made for my dreams was Matthew shaped. But my dreams </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. Do you get that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.” And he was right. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to go back home herself, it was that she already lived under the shadow of people who wanted the Greywaren, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ronan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She didn’t think she could handle being surrounded by wonders that people would kill for. Not without knowing how bad it would be. In essence, pretty bad, if what they’d been through since Niall’s death was any indication. “If it’s any consolation, I hated it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never acted like it,” Ronan spat. “You treated Mom, the Barns, and me like we were by-products of someone you hated. That showed, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan patted her pocket for one of her pills, taking one dry, thinking she shouldn’t have started this conversation. It was a fight they’d needed to have years ago, and it could take them all the way back. It was the last thing she wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was angry, Ronan. You were too. We’re never good when we’re angry, not a single goddamn one of us. Besides,” she took a deep breath, “no one ever bothered to hide what they felt about me. Least of all him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan studied her. She could feel his eyes piercing, trying to pick her apart. She let him, feeling Chainsaw lean against her shoulder. “You fucked up some shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So did you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both jutted their chins out at one another. It wasn’t quite a fight, and it also wasn’t over, she thought. But the screen door jerked open and Matthew stuck his face out. “C’mon, guys! We’re gonna be late!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s fault is that?” Ronan bit back, but without heat. “Little shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew didn’t seem to mind the insult, instead looking at Declan and screwing up his face. “Ewww, you’re wearing grey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan smirked, jerking her thumb over at Ronan. “He’s wearing black, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s like, Ronan’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>brand</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, even so. When he wears colors, maybe I will too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew suddenly turned that wrinkled nose over to Ronan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me. I already did my part today. We doing this or not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan slipped back inside, Ronan behind her, and she grabbed her keys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan made small talk with one of the Sisters while Ronan was in confession. She didn’t want to be waiting there when he came out of the box. Matthew was outside on the steps, probably getting two-handed handshakes and head pats from the old ladies who’d come to adore him since they moved to Alexandria. St. Eithne didn’t have the same feel of St. Agnes; not as big, not as vast, and even though that afforded her even less privacy, she still liked it better. The wash of green often comforted her the way the rolling pastures of the Barns comforted Ronan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of, she watched his shadowy form pass through the nave on the way outside to Matthew, and she politely disengaged herself from the conversation. Sister Veronica blessed her, and she gave a pleasant but distracted smile in thanks. The door to the confessional stood open, awaiting its next guest, and only now did her palms start to feel sweaty. Traditionally, it was expected that you reflect on your sins before confession, and Declan knew she’d been reflecting on her sins daily, often hourly, for the past few years. She took a deep breath and slipped inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This too felt different than St. Agnes, more compact but inviting, the musty smell of old wood and incense. And, unmistakably, Father O’Hanlon. She focused on the first two things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…three years since my last confession.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peace be with you, child of God.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peace hadn’t been with Declan since long before she’d stopped coming to confession, but Father O’Hanlon didn’t need to know that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I confess…that I am a liar. Not just to myself, but to my family, and the world. It’s caused harm to my relationships, and it’s…made us all unhappy. I thought I was protecting them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you in trouble with the law, son?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan flinched, and she hoped it didn’t show in her voice. “Not like that. I’ve been caring for my brothers since my father died, which, coincidently is the last time I confessed that I had no idea what to do. I thought I was making the right choices, doing all the right things. I read books, I prayed, I tried. But I lied about who I was, and then the lying just became who I was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you telling me, and God, the truth right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Father. I’m tired. Very, very tired of lying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside the box, Declan felt small, like a much younger version of herself, who hadn’t understood that confessional wasn’t for sneaking cookies off the counter while Aurora’s back was turned, and it wasn’t for those times she’d pushed Ronan into the lake. It was for the things that made a human being, a soul, miserable. Crushing who she’d been for Niall, for his secrets, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> lies, had been miserable work. Though it had appeared to work for a while, it had all come undone out of things that hadn’t been under her control. She had to let that go, she had to give that to God, and this was the only way she knew how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On behalf of Christ and the church, I ask of you prayers and penance. The road to unraveling lies is not an easy one. They’re layered stone upon stone, until they’ve built a fortress of deception, keeping you safe within it, but also destroying you. For how can you let the unburdened love of your family in without showing them the parts of you inside the wall?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How indeed, Declan wondered. How spectacularly it had failed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must offer up to God the person you have been hiding all this time. Make amends with your brothers, show them who you are through your good deeds. And know that you will be forgiven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for this life I’ve created,” she whispered. “I will be myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let us pray.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan threaded her fingers together and bowed her head. Father O’Hanlon incanted, in his old and soothing voice, tinged ever so slightly with an Irish lilt that was nothing like her father’s. She could barely recall what was being said, only that this moment was a knife against her own knotwork, severing her anchor to the lies that built her life. Built Ronan’s life. Built Matthew’s life. She wanted to be free to make her own choices, and as she’d been told, the road wouldn’t be easy. That was a weak warning when living the life of her lies hadn’t been easy either. Difficult to say whether it had been worth trying, but easy to determine that she couldn’t change the past, no matter how much she wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the priest said amen, she did as well, thanking him quietly and making her exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan was smiling when she came outside and found her brothers waiting by the Volvo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finally,” Ronan huffed, getting into the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew looked at her. “What’s that smile for, Dec?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just feeling like myself today, Matthew. Would you like to go for ice cream?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heck yeah!” he cheered, yanking open the door and all but launching himself into the backseat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Declan slid behind the wheel in a calmer fashion, still feeling pleased. “I guess you can come too, Ronan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks, fuckface.” But he was watching her again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From Niall, she’d learned how to lie to protect herself. From him, she also learned how to tell a story in the way that taught children lessons and inspired them to act according to the story. Words were her weapons, and she’d brought them to church with her. She’d told the truth about herself, something she hadn’t done since — well, God knew how long. And maybe it had been cheating, but Father O’Hanlon had given her his, and God’s, blessing to be who she was. So that’s exactly what she planned to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This Father’s Day was turning out better than she ever could have expected.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please come yell at me about Declan, TRC and CDTH over at <a href="http://oldkingyounggod.tumblr.com">my blog</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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